Wait
by waterbaby134
Summary: Lisbon ponders her past, present and future, and how Jane fits into them all.
1. Chapter 1

**I hope this story doesn't step on anybody's toes, or read too similar to anything else. Far superior authors to myself have done similar work, but I hope mine is just different enough to separate it from the pack. Frankly, I wasn't sure whether or not to even post it, but here it is.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Rated T**

**Please forgive any discrepancies from the show. I've had to rely on FF and Youtube to keep up with it.**

* * *

They say anticipation can be the best part.

Holding onto that final shred of self-control before succumbing to temptation.

That thrilling, giddy rush of knowing that something is about to happen that can change your life.

They say that good things come to those who wait, and that patience is a virtue, and the best things in life are worth waiting for, and I suppose they're right.

But how long is too long to wait?

He's reclining on the couch in my new Texas apartment, shoes toed off onto the rug, and the lamplight throwing flecks of gold into his hair. Sometimes, when I think he is distracted, I find myself surveying him, cataloguing each new feature that doesn't track with my memory of how he used to be. They are small, but noticeable. The way he smiles just a little brighter; walks just a little freer. Life is still not perfect for him, but it's a damn sight better than it used to be.

He sips the wine in his hand and smiles at me. He seems content to sit in silence, even though I have a thousand questions I want to ask him, about his life in South America, about what he did with himself for the two years we've been apart. The letters he sent contained few details about his day-to-day activities, filled instead with his own personal musings on pain and loss, and life and death.

I was glad to receive every one of them of course. Proof that he hadn't forgotten me; our friendship, everything we had. Proof that it had meant something to him.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, after a while.

"Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like nothing."

There's really no point telling him about it; he already knows it all. Two years spent divided between being mad at him and missing him, the whirlwind of circumstances that got me here working for the FBI instead of in Washington. The audacity of him to make decisions for me without even considering the possibility that I might not have been interested.

He made me a _term_, for God's sake. A condition, a point on a list. A possession.

Although, to be fair, he did seem sincerely surprised and ashamed of himself when I finally pointed this out to him. I have absolutely no doubt that it wasn't out of spite or some grandiose male posturing, but that it never even occurred to him to ask me what I thought. After all, why would he have expected anything else after over a decade of simply telling me what he wanted, and then watching me fall obediently into line?

But he forfeited that right when he left again. Sure, it wasn't the total communication blackout that Vegas turned out to be, but when he took off to hide under non-extradition in South America, he took a great big chunk of my life with him.

Of course, I know that he would have been arrested if he'd stayed. The FBI was combing the country for him within hours of discovering McCallister's body. They would have thrown the book at him hard, and from a great height, just to have one arrest to show to the public. So I understand why he needed to go.

But I just keep coming back to the fact that he left me _again,_ when I needed him the most.

"Thinking about the case?" he asks. "Because I've cracked it."

I can't help the small smile that appears on my lips. "Of course you have."

"I have a brilliant idea for flushing out the killer," he tells me, leaning forward eagerly towards me.

"And what's that?" Even now, there is a twinge of apprehension. Though technically we are equals now, and all his crazy stunts are finally someone else's problem, the phrase 'I have an idea' will forever be synonymous with trepidation and a mini heart attack for me. Just one of the many wonderful side effects to being an authority figure in Patrick Jane's life.

"It involves secret recording equipment, raisins, and a duck," he goes on. "Want to help me?"

Part of me would love to, just like old times. But I don't dare. If it all goes pear-shaped, I don't have the power to protect him anymore. I don't even have the power to protect myself. I can't afford to make a single slip-up in these first few months, not when I have so much to prove.

I'm under no illusions that I was offered this job on the strength of any of my own achievements. And though I didn't do it as often or as spectacularly as Jane, I_ did_ achieve things at the CBI.

I kept my team safe through the Red John nightmare.

I kept on closing cases when Jane was in Vegas.

I took down Tommy Volker when nobody else dared to touch him.

I'm proud of those things. I know I'm a good cop. But I also know the only reason the FBI gives a damn about who I am or what I can do; is because Jane wants me here. I can see it in other agent's eyes when we're introduced or when we pass in the corridors.

I can almost hear what they're thinking.

"_Teresa Lisbon, eh? So this is Patrick Jane's little lapdog. They said her career was over. Guess it's all about who your friends are."_

It really isn't fair. I have a right to be here just as much as they do. I _am_ a good cop. I _can_ do this job, and do it well, with or without Jane.

Once again, I'm playing Watson to his Sherlock. The perennial sidekick. He's the main event and I'm the opening act that nobody can be bothered to listen to.

"I'm not the one who's got the FBI over a barrel," I point out to him. "Unless you've got some other damning evidence hidden somewhere to be used as blackmail." As this thought occurs to me, I can't help but glance at him questioningly. "There_ isn't_ any more, is there?"

"As long as they stick to the terms of agreement, they won't have to find out." He takes a long swig of wine, draining what remains of his glass. "Besides, they know better than to try and turf you out Lisbon. I'd never accuse our FBI brethren of being among the world's great thinkers, but surely they wouldn't be _that_ stupid."

I know perfectly well that if they try and renege on any one of his demands, he'll be out the door. And this time, they won't find him.

Every time he walks out the door, he could be walking out of my life forever. That's a scary thought.

"Teresa." His hand on mine brings me out of my reverie. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, Jane. I'm fine." I proffer the open bottle of wine. "Another drink?"

He grins at me. "I hope you're not trying to liquor me up so you can take advantage of me in a drunken state."

"I would never," I retort, scowling at him. "I'm an officer of the law."

There's something extra in his smile this time as he hands over his glass for me to top up. "That's the great thing about being a consultant I guess. I don't have to make any such promises."

Maybe it's just the wine talking, but I can almost swear there's a gleam in his eye as he says this.

Within the hour, the bottle of wine is finished. To be honest, I'm a little surprised at how fast it disappeared. We've been so caught up in talking about the old days at the CBI, I hardly even noticed how much I was drinking, or how late it is getting. It's now past midnight and we have work in the morning. I can't speak for Jane of course, but I fully intend to be on time.

"You really shouldn't drive," I tell him, as he unsteadily rises to his feet, swaying a little. "I feel worried enough about you in a car even when you're sober."

"I'm an excellent driver, Teresa," he protests, eyeing me sternly. "Just because I go a little faster than you do…"

"Speed limits are there for a reason. And it would make me feel better if you'd stay here tonight. Crash on the couch and in the morning I'll take you to your trailer to pick up your stuff."

"I'm fine," he insists, stubbornly.

"No you're not." I'll wrestle those keys out of his hand if I have to, and he knows it. "Look, either you hand over the keys or I'll take them from you myself."

He suddenly lets out a great yawn, and I know I've won this battle. He tosses me the keys, and then flops back down unceremoniously on the couch and closes his eyes, as I take the empty bottle and glasses to the kitchen. On the way back, I flip the light off in the living room, so only the moonlight filters through.

I can just make out his silhouette as he shifts around a little, trying to get comfortable, and his slow, deep breathing seems almost deafening in the surrounding silence.

His voice makes me pause in my tracks as I make for my bedroom.

"Thanks Teresa," he says, sleepily. "You're always looking out for me."

"Who else would?"

His low chuckle fills my ears as I finally exit the room.

* * *

I'm up early the next morning, the craving for coffee too strong to ignore. Surprisingly, Jane is still asleep; the alcohol must have hit him harder than I thought. I'm now doubly grateful that he consented to stay the night. He probably would have wrapped his car around a telephone pole with the state he was in, or God only knows what else.

The sun is just beginning to rise as I pour out the coffee and pop some bread into the toaster. I can hear him stirring in the living room, and after a moment, he pads into the kitchen too.

"Morning," he greets me, running a lazy hand through his messy hair, blinking in the brightening light.

"Good morning. How's your head?"

"Voicing its displeasure about the wine I drank." He winces. "Very loudly."

"What's Abbot going to say about you turning up to work with a hangover?"

He shrugs. "Nothing that I expect to have any interest in hearing."

He certainly looks like he's had a rough night. Aside from the tousled hair and apparent photosensitivity, the rumpled clothes and the beard top off the whole effect. Although, on him it all kind of…works. Even as dishevelled as your average hobo, he still makes all those endorphins and hormones rush to my head like a racecar. I guess some things haven't changed.

His fixes himself a cup of tea. The toast pops. I butter myself a slice and then offer him one. He should at least have something in his stomach before we get to work.

"This is all terribly domestic, isn't it?" he manages to say, between bites. "Cooking breakfast together, carpooling to work. It's been a while since I've done this."

"Me too." On the rare occasion I invite someone back to my place, he's out the door by sunup. I have no interest in running any kind of a bed and breakfast operation.

He turns to me, all seriousness. "You'll find someone to share your mornings with, Teresa," he says. "I know you will."

"It doesn't matter right now anyway," I lie, probably not all that convincingly. "More than enough to keep me busy." Sometimes I think I'd really like to have a proper relationship again. Just so I could remind myself what it feels like.

"Being busy won't make you happy, you know."

I force back a snort of irritation. Has he learned _nothing_ since our conversation on the plane? He doesn't get to tell me how to live my life.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we recently have a conversation about your right to dictate the terms of my life?" I ask him, and he has the grace to look slightly ashamed of himself.

"You've been taking care of me for years," he says quietly. "I feel I should return the favour."

"I don't need you to take care of me."

"But what if I wanted to?"

I suddenly realize that he's edging a little closer to me, his tea abandoned on the other side of the counter, and my skin starts to prickle.

"What if I were to tell you that it would make me happy if you let me look out for you, the way you always have for me?"

"I was your boss," I gently remind him. "It was my job."

"Not anymore. We're equals now."

"Sure we are." I can't help the sarcasm that flows out with these words. "We might be in a different state, and in a different agency, but I'm still playing second fiddle to you, Jane, just like I always was."

He takes my hand in his again. "You don't play second fiddle to _anybody_, my dear. Least of all me."

"Let's not kid ourselves here," I counter. "Of the two of us, you are always going to be the shining star." He couldn't be any different if he tried. He's always had a magnetic personality, making every person in the room turn to look at him, no matter what he's doing. It's one of the many things I love about him.

His fingers tenderly thread through mine. "We both know I wouldn't be anything if it weren't for you."

He's never looked at me this way before. He's never stood so close. I don't think my heart's beaten this quickly in my entire life, or that I've ever forgotten how to breathe like I am doing now. He leans in even closer, and I see his lips part.

"Feel free to stop me," he whispers.

Oh God.

I've been imagining this moment for over ten years, but never in my wildest dreams did I think it would become a reality. My eyes slide closed, the anticipation building all the time, as his hands come up to cup my face. When his lips touch mine, the kitchen around us seems to fade away.

He's so hesitant at first, as though waiting for me to push him away from me, but starts to take encouragement as I start to kiss him back. Within moments, I feel my body press against the kitchen counter, as the kiss becomes less gentle and more ardent.

Ten years of waiting, and I'd convinced myself it could never be as good as I imagined it would be; but somehow it is. From the way he holds me, to the way he kisses me like the world is about to end. His fingers trail up and down my back, he tickles my earlobe, kisses my neck.

"Teresa," he breathes. I don't think my name has ever sounded so good as it does coming out of him.

But all too soon, it is over. We pull apart, gasping for air. I actually feel myself stumble a little, and have to lean on him briefly for support. My head starts to clear, my thoughts start to come back, and he's smiling down at me, as he presses another kiss to my forehead.

"You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that," he says.

"Trust me, I really do."

If only we didn't have to go to work today, we could do so much more. Kissing him was only the start. I want him to touch me, feel him against me, his skin on mine. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

An odd beeping noise shatters the magical spell. My cell phone is ringing. Reality is back.

"It's Abbot," says Jane, glancing at the display. "Duty calls." My spirits sink a little when he steps away from me, and takes his arms from around my waist.

"You better go and take a shower." His voice sounds a little hoarse. "We should probably get going soon."

Every cell in my body is screaming for me to invite him to join me, to peel all my clothes off, and get his hands on me again, but amazingly, I still have work in the back of my mind. I still have a lot to prove at the FBI. My career is too important to me to put it at risk.

Somehow, I vow I'll get through the day without losing my wits, and then I'll bring him back here, take the phones off the hook and let him give me what I've always wanted.

He is worth the wait.

* * *

**Hope you liked it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was going to write a Christmas fic, but there are so many great ones already published and so many people asked for a second chapter to this one, an idea popped into my head. So please accept this as my personal Christmas gift to the fandom.**

**Disclaimer: I love these characters as if they were my own, but alas, they are not.**

**This story is rated T but strays into M, so don't read if you're not into that.**

* * *

It's not until after I drop Jane at his trailer so he can change that my heartbeat finally returns to normal. As he thanks me, and then exits the car, I have to work hard to suppress the urge to call him back. My fingers twitch on the steering wheel as though they cannot wait to touch him again, however fleetingly.

Twelve years, I've waited to get him into my arms. Twelve goddamn years, and it was over in what felt like moments, and now I know exactly what I've been missing out on, the waiting is even worse. The injustice of it almost makes me want to scream in frustration.

Instead, I force myself to put the car into gear and drive away.

Neither of us spoke much on the drive over, after The Kiss; it's still too fresh. My mind is still struggling to process the fact that it even happened at all; that I didn't dream it or imagine it as I often have in the past. More than once have I woken in the middle of the night, twisted under the sheets, breathing hard, and gasping his name, only to discover that it has all been mere fantasy. These dreams began around the time of his return from Vegas, but dropped off during the final weeks of the hunt for Red John, and disappeared completely while he was in South America.

It's been almost four months since he came back into my life, and since then I've dreamed of him at least five nights out of every seven. They're not all sexual; sometimes we're just talking, or driving somewhere in his old Citroen, but he continues to make regular appearances in my subconscious.

Fitting, really. He's always made his presence felt in my life, whether he's physically there or not. I'll never be able to truly escape him, and I'm not sure I even really want to.

I feel strange as I park the car at the FBI field office and move into the building. As usual, a few pairs of eyes pass disinterestedly over me, and I receive the odd brisk nod in greeting. But the vast majority go about their business as though I'm not even there. I wonder if they even see me as they dodge around me in the narrow hallway.

Perhaps they simply don't care. After all, I am not much more than a mildly interesting sideshow in the Patrick Jane three-ring circus, there to pass some time until the great master unveils his next trick.

The elevator pings. Someone else is arriving on the floor, and by the way all eyes turn toward the disturbance, I don't have to work hard to guess who. He always did know how to make an entrance.

You wouldn't know by looking at him that he'd just spent the night cramped up on a couch. Leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, and the other pulling carelessly through his curls. He could be posing for a magazine.

Lord help me, he's delicious.

A few of the female agents pause in their tracks as he steps out of the elevator, and two call out greetings. He smiles benignly at them both, inclining his head, and continues on his way. When he catches my eye, he smiles at me too, and winks, but doesn't break his stride as he heads for Abbot's office at the end of the hall. The man in question emerges from the room, arms folded, and watching Jane approaching with a mixture of mild amusement and distaste.

"Patrick," he says, stonily. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

"I called this morning and told you who the killer was," Jane replies, unapologetically. "Not my fault if your people haven't acted on it yet. Consider yourself lucky. If this were the CBI I probably wouldn't even have turned up at all."

Abbot's jaw twitches irritably. "Luckily, a man of your observational skills must have figured out by now that this is the FBI, and _not_ the California Bureau of Investigation."

"And I would have thought a man of your intelligence would have realized by now that all the high-class hookers in the world won't take the place of the loving relationship you so desperately crave, but can't get." Jane doesn't trouble to keep his voice low, and gasps and sniggers echo around the hallway. Abbot silences them all with a look that could freeze a volcano, and I quickly avert my eyes so he doesn't catch me looking.

"Let's continue this discussion inside."

"Of course, Agent Abbot," Jane says pleasantly. "After you."

The whispers start again as soon as the door closes behind them, agents wondering out loud if Jane was right, and their boss does get his thrills through escorts. I know the rumour will be spread through the entire building within the hour. Nothing travels faster in a workplace than damning gossip about an authority figure; I know because I was on the receiving end of it many times back at the CBI. I'd almost feel sorry for Abbot, but a tiny little pocket of spite can't forgive him for what he put us through during the final weeks of the Red John case, and kind of wants to see him fight for his reputation against his superiors, just like I used to do.

"Has he always been like this?" One of the agents that said hello to Jane earlier has appeared at my side. I know her by sight, having passed her several times in the hallway or the parking lot, but we've never spoken to each other. Like all the others, she tends to give me a wide berth, except when Jane's around. But I'm used to that.

From inside the room I can hear his familiar chuckle. It's still one of my favourite sounds in the world.

"Believe me. This is just the beginning."

"Wow." She gazes at the closed door to Abbot's office. "Being his boss can't have been a walk in the park."

She has no idea.

* * *

Without any case to investigate, the morning passes frustratingly slowly. I stay dutifully at my desk for hours on end, working my way slowly through reams of paperwork. Around me, my colleagues chatter light-heartedly amongst themselves about last night's hockey game, about the upcoming holidays, their plans with their families, and I hit the computer keys a little harder, trying to drown them out. No friendly office chitchat for me. Teresa Lisbon. Dedicated employee of the FBI. But then I make the mistake of glancing up from the screen.

Distraction at one o' clock.

Oh no. I recognize that strut. And that grin. In spite of myself I can still feel a smile pulling at my lips as our eyes meet over the top of the screen. I bet Abbot doesn't even know what hit him.

He makes his way over to his brand new couch and lies down on it. The sight is so reminiscent of the old days that it tugs at my heart a little. Unfortunately, this new couch is so far across the bullpen that I can't keep a close eye on him like I used to. Kim Fischer's desk however, is conveniently positioned at just the right angle to give an unobstructed view. Protecting the FBI's investment I suppose. I wonder if that was her idea, or Abbot's.

Five hours have passed since the kiss. We still haven't spoken to each other since.

My cell phone bleeps, with a text message. It's from him. One word.

_Tonight?_

My heart skips a beat. I'm not sure I'm ready for this. But we can't keep circling each other forever. Sooner or later this dance has to end. And I don't think I've ever wanted anything or anyone as much as I want this.

I do want this. I want him. I always have.

I can feel him watching me. He can clearly see me, even if I can't see him, so I give a tiny nod in his general direction. Immediately, another message comes speeding in.

_Your place or mine?_

Well, at least that is an easy question. I've been in love with this man for over ten years, but that doesn't mean I want to have sex in an Airstream trailer, so he can forget that idea right now.

_Mine._

It's a few minutes before the phone bleeps again, and when I read what he's written, I can feel the blush rush to my face.

_I'll be counting down every moment. X_

So will I. I glance at the clock. It's 10 am. Seven hours until we leave for the day. Half an hour to drive back to my place. A minute to get in the door. Thirty seconds to tear his clothes off.

And then…

If you're listening God, please don't let there be a murder today. I don't ask for much, but I'm begging you now, please just let me have this.

A small thud heralds the arrival of another pile of paperwork several inches thick. The courier of this wonderful gift is none other than Abbot, whose run-in with Jane seems to have visibly affected him. I probably looked the same the first time Jane cold-read me. It takes a while to get used to someone riffling through your brain, and spouting your deepest darkest secrets as though they're old news, and even using them against you to suit his purposes.

Of all the people in this building, I know what it feels like to have Jane get inside my head.

I shouldn't kick him while he's down. I really shouldn't.

Oh, but I can't resist.

"Nice watch, Abbot." I gaze at his shiny golden Rolex. "You really are a man of expensive taste."

He stiffens as my words register, and I can hear laughter at a nearby desk, quickly stifled as he turns to try and find the perpetrator.

"You are skating on thin ice, Lisbon," he says instead. "You're still new here. Don't forget that."

I'm really getting tired of being treated this way; like I'm the one who killed a man and fled the country; like being offered this job was some huge favour I should be thanking him for on bended knee. I gave up a career and a home to be here, and to commit myself to five more years of putting my own life on hold to chase Jane around the country. I made sacrifices, and I want that acknowledged.

"That's true," I admit, all cold politeness. "But don't _you_ forget that I am the only one around here who understands the situation you're in. Being responsible for Jane's actions is not an easy job, and believe me, you're going to need all the help you can get."

He glares at me sternly over the rim of his glasses. "Thank you for your concern, Agent Lisbon, but I don't need you to tell me how to do my job."

Even though we're speaking quietly, we are getting an audience. Around us, the chatter in the bullpen goes quiet as people turn to see what's happening, and I know without having to look that Jane is watching too.

"You've never dealt with someone like him before, have you?" I ask, in the sudden silence. "You don't have even the slightest idea what you're getting yourself into."

"And I suppose you do?" he snarls at me, and I smile sweetly in the face of the hostility.

"I can tell by the look on your face that he's got something on you already. Something bigger than high-class hookers. And you're afraid he'll use it against you." The quick flicker of horror on his face tells me that I'm right. "My best piece of advice? Choose your battles wisely. Don't bother taking anything on unless you're 100% sure that it's worth it."

He folds his arms, and glares at me some more. "If I want your advice in the future, Agent Lisbon, I'll ask for it."

"Suit yourself." I shrug my shoulders. I am unable to help him if he refuses to help himself, and besides, I'm kind of looking forward to watching him try to keep Jane in check. _I_ could never figure out the secret, and he's my best friend. Jane despises Abbot. The whole thing is a train wreck waiting to happen. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

It's not until lunchtime (4 hours and 45 minutes to go) that something finally hits me, with the force of a freight train. If all goes as planned tonight, if we finally take this last step to being lovers, our friendship will be over. There'll be no coming back from this one, no safety net to lessen the blow if it all doesn't work out.

I haven't spoken to my brothers in weeks. I don't see much of Cho outside of the office, and the Rigsbys are back in California, with their own fish to fry. Jane is practically the only family I've got left. What will be left for me here in Texas if I lose him too?

The chair beside me is pulled back with a loud scraping noise and the object of my musings drops into it, nursing a fresh cup of tea.

"Hey there," he greets me, blowing steam off the top.

"You really did a number on Abbot," I tell him, in a low voice. "I wish you wouldn't keep pushing him like that; you make things so much harder for yourself. And for me." I'm hoping the last part might inspire a little guilt; it's sometimes worked in the past.

He waves me off, carelessly. "He didn't chase me into another country just to fire me over something as petty as this. Anyway, after what I just saw, I think you were holding your own quite well." He grins at me. "You cold-read him in the middle of the FBI bullpen without breaking a sweat. I don't think I've ever wanted you more."

"Don't."

Wonderful as it is to hear him say that, the FBI cafeteria is not the place for this conversation.

He sets the teacup down on the table with a soft clunk, and looks deep into my eyes.

I've always loved his eyes. The way they seem to burn into my soul, reading thoughts and feelings I didn't even know I had.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he says.

His voice is like a whisper, though still perfectly audible in the crowded cafeteria, and under the table, I feel his leg brush against mine, and it sets my heart racing. This is so unprofessional, there are eyes everywhere in the FBI, and I'm sure Abbot would love to find an excuse to be rid of me that doesn't contravene his agreement with Jane. I know he thinks I am too close to Jane to be effective in controlling him, and he's probably right. But I'm not about to give him proof of that.

Reluctantly I move my leg away from his. "Not here. The walls have eyes. Later this afternoon."

Now his fingers are walking up my thigh, and I feel my breath catch.

"I don't know if I can wait that long."

"Stop that." I gently slap his hand to halt its progress up my leg. "It's only a little longer."

"We could just get out of here now," he suggests, with a big, winning smile. "Nobody will miss us, and we could be back at your place in twenty minutes." His hand tightens on my leg.

I won't lie; the idea is unbelievably tempting. But somehow, I think people will notice if the FBI golden boy disappears from the office four hours early, and I'm not sure it's wise to do anything else to antagonise Abbot today. We've already pissed him off enough between the two of us.

"Patrick."

Kim Fischer, in all her leggy glory, is sauntering past us, holding a tray containing nothing but a bottle of water and an apple.

With his usual chameleon-like precision, Jane adapts to the changing situation as easily as if he'd planned it himself. Without the slightest hint of guilt, he removes his hand from my leg and smiles at her.

"Hello Kim," he greets her. "Case closed?"

"You'd know if you'd bothered to show up on time." She tosses her long hair over her shoulder, and continues on her way, inclining her head to me. "Agent Lisbon."

I still can't quite work out what the story is between these two. Clearly, they'd met before Jane and I came to the FBI that day to negotiate his terms, but they didn't seem to know each other all that well. She certainly seems out of her depth when it comes to dealing with him on cases, but at times like this, they're quite at ease with each other.

I glance at Jane, looking for clues, but he's too busy stirring his tea to notice, or so he'd have me believe.

"I haven't slept with her," he informs me, flatly.

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to."

* * *

The afternoon crawls by like the last day of school before summer vacation. I try my best to occupy myself with case-closed paperwork, but I don't think I've ever been so anxious to leave work as I am right now. It's as though my whole future happiness rests on tonight; if it goes well, I get to have a whole new relationship with the man I love, if not, my heart gets smashed into pieces for the umpteenth time and I'll probably wish I'd never even laid eyes on him.

I'm nervous. My fingers are tapping on the surface of my desk, and I can't concentrate on anything. After having read over the same report three times and still not retaining any of it, I finally abandon it. It can wait until Monday morning; I can come in early and finish it then. Who knows? I may need the distraction.

At the coffee maker, (and it's somewhat comforting to know government coffee sucks no matter where you go) I'm approached again by the same woman. For the first time, I notice she's wearing a necklace similar to mine, tucked beneath her shirt.

"I didn't get a chance to introduce myself before. I'm Marina Williams."

"Teresa Lisbon."

"I know."

"You do?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Please. You and your team took out Red John. Everyone knows who you are." She reaches for a cup.

I think of all the averted glances in the corridors, the whispers, and the raised eyebrows, and can't help but scoff. "Could have fooled me."

She sighs. "There have been rumours going around that some people are going to get the sack to make room for you and Jane. Total crap, of course, but you know how government employees like to gossip."

That explains a lot.

"Not to mention they're all feeling threatened as hell by you two," Williams continues. "Jane's on track to be the FBI's new poster boy, and you've got quite the reputation around here yourself. They say you're a hell of a shot."

"I can handle a weapon."

"The way I heard it, you could outgun most of the Bureau with one hand tied behind your back." She takes a swig of coffee and makes a face. "Listen, a bunch of us are going for drinks at this place around the corner. The owner gives fifty percent off for all G-men and women. You'd be welcome to join us. Jane too, if he wants."

Despite spending the whole day almost desperate to get home, I seriously consider the offer. This is the first time my new colleagues have extended any kind of friendly contact to me; it feels rude to refuse it. But I don't think Jane and I can wait any longer. At least, I know I can't.

"Actually, I kind of already have plans for tonight. Raincheck?"

She smiles. "Sure. We do it pretty much every week. Consider this an open invitation." Then she lowers her voice. "Can't say I blame you, anyway. If I had Patrick Jane, I'd want to keep him all to myself as well."

"We're just friends." I don't know why I feel the need to explain myself to her, particularly considering the fact that we could be a whole lot more than friends in a few hours' time. Maybe it's because of what Fischer said to me during the Schneiderman case. She basically implied that the reason Jane and I worked so well together for so long was because we were sleeping together. I never considered it at the time, but ever since she said it, I've wondered how many other people who worked with us had the same opinion. It's insulting. Nobody would have been happier than me if we _had_ been sleeping together, but the fact is we weren't. Our partnership was sacrifice and pain and damn hard work, and nothing else.

Williams seems sceptical. "Do all your 'friends' look at you like you just descended from heaven itself? Because he does."

And she takes her cup of coffee/car brake fluid and heads back to her desk.

* * *

At five on the nose, I'm out the door, passing Fischer, who raises her eyebrows, Williams, who smirks, and Cho, who makes no reaction whatsoever. I wave at him anyway, and head to the parking lot. I can't see Jane anywhere but I assume he's probably on his way out too. If I'm quick I should beat him back to my place with enough time to change and pull a brush through my hair at least. Not that what I plan on us doing is going to require a whole lot of clothing, but eight hours trapped behind a desk doesn't make anybody look their alluring best at the end of the day.

Except Jane, of course. But he's the exception to most rules.

I've barely been home two minutes when the knock comes at the door. Wow. Even by Jane's standards, he must have driven fast. Hastily, I pull on my favourite jeans and the red top I save for the few dates I actually go on, and glance at myself in the bathroom mirror. Not exactly screaming 'goddess' but he's certainly seen me looking a whole lot worse.

He knocks again. And after a pause of about two seconds, again. Impatient. I can see his shadow through the front window and my heart starts to pound again, so loudly it's ringing in my ears.

The smile that greets me when I open the door would send a lesser woman swooning into a heap on the floor. For a moment, it actually seems brighter than the afternoon sun streaming in behind him. And yes, my knees buckle just a little, but I don't think he notices because he's too busy grinning down at me.

"How in the hell did you get here so fast? Break the sound barrier?"

He chuckles. "I always found that an odd phrase. Everyone knows light travels faster than sound, but no one ever mentions the light barrier."

"Maybe because there's no such thing."

"Maybe it just hasn't been discovered yet."

I can't believe he's standing on my doorstep arguing with me about physics, of all things. I can't speak for him of course, but I spent most of the day tying myself in knots, waiting for this moment, and now it's finally here, I'm not sure what to do.

I know where we are, and where I want tonight to end up, but I'm damned if I know how we're supposed to get there.

"Can I come in?"

It's only when he says it that I realise that I've been standing with my body blocking the entire doorway, as though I'm barring him from entering. Weird.

He closes the door behind him and follows me into the living room.

"New outfit?" he asks, running his eyes up and down my body.

"I've had these for ages." I'm afraid to meet his eyes, I'm not sure if I want to know if he likes what he sees. "You never saw them because I didn't think they were strictly appropriate for work."

"They most certainly are not." There's something like a growl in his voice, and I notice he takes extra time surveying my legs. Leg man, then. Good to know. And he certainly doesn't look disappointed with the rest of me either.

He of course, is perfect as usual.

"Drink?" I offer, to break the silence.

"Sure."

We knocked back all the wine I had last night so I settle for beer instead. I bring two bottles out from the fridge and sit next to him on the couch, but not as close as I usually would. In fact, we seem to be sitting at opposite ends, which we _never_ do, not even at the office. But neither of us is closing the gap. That's weird too.

We sip our beers. Outside, the rushing sound of passing traffic is a constant refrain, and the shadows lengthen as the sun begins to sink even lower. This silence is killing me. How long have I wanted this to become a reality? The two of us, alone, no Red John, no regulations, no third parties, everything falling perfectly into place, and now I have it, _still_ we're going nowhere.

"What the hell's wrong with us?"

"Sorry?" He turns his head towards me, and I blush furiously. I didn't actually mean to say that out loud.

"Nothing. Another beer?" Mortified I try to rise from the couch, but his hand on my leg again restrains me.

"It wasn't nothing." His thumb rubs back and forth. "Don't be embarrassed. We were both thinking it, you were just the only one brave enough to say it."

I inhale and let it out very slowly, playing for time. "I just don't understand," I admit, slowly meeting his eyes. "That moment we had this morning was so perfect, I thought we were finally going to get somewhere. And now it's…"

"Weird?" he supplies, and I nod.

He sighs. "I know. I feel it too."

I can feel my pulse start to pick up again, but this time, it's not desire that's responsible, it's anger. Pounding, white-hot anger, pulsing through my body like an electrical charge. I'm not angry with him per se, but I'm angry with myself, with the way he makes me feel, and with this whole screwed-up situation. The darkness was supposed to be over when Red John was killed, not follow us here into our new lives.

"This is not fair." I can hear my voice shaking with the effort of trying to not to shout. "I've waited for you for so long. I've _wanted_ you for so long. This is not how it was supposed to happen."

He looks as though I've slapped him in the face, and I'm dimly aware of the fact that I've actually just expressed my feelings for him for the first time ever. I never thought it would happen like this.

"Every day I was in South America I wanted to see you more than anything." His voice sounds like velvet. "I missed you so much it almost killed me. Seeing you again is the best thing that's happened to me since I left."

"I love you, you know." Since we're confessing things anyway, I might as well tell him now, and in any case, I'm almost certain that he already knows. He always said I was a terrible liar, and that I couldn't keep secrets.

The small nod of his head confirms my suspicions. Hell, he probably picked it up before even I did; I spent so much time trying to convince myself that I didn't feel the things I was feeling. Turned out that I can't even lie to myself.

"I don't deserve it."

"Shut up." Funnily enough, I'm more annoyed about his never-ending self-flagellation than I am about him not saying it back. I always knew that was a strong possibility, even after Red John. His death doesn't make Jane love his dead wife any less. It'd be quite romantic if their eternal love didn't leave me forever alone.

"Come here." He holds out his arms to me, and I slide across the couch until he can slip them around my shoulders and draw me into him. He's warm, and I can feel his steady heartbeat, and noticing those things just makes me even more depressed.

"I don't think I ever actually thanked you for agreeing to take the FBI job," he says to me, as I rest my head on his shoulder.

"You knew I would."

"You had me concerned there for a while," he says, and I can feel his hand running slowly up and down my arm. "I thought I was going to have to deal with Abbot and Fischer and the FBI all by myself."

"You would have made friends…eventually." Admittedly, it might have taken a while, especially without me around to smooth any ruffled feathers, but he would have got there in the end. At the very least, he'd have had plenty of female company.

"I would have made acquaintances," he said. "Cho, the Rigsbys, Pete, and Sam are the only five people on this earth that would ever make the cut as friends, and you're the only person in the universe that could have made me want to live again after Red John. I don't know what I would have done without you."

They're beautiful words, kind words, but they're not the words I wanted to hear. Once again I curse the injustice this horrible situation my life is presenting me. All I wanted to do tonight was make love to him like I always dreamed. But I thought about it all day, built it up in my head and psyched myself out, and now I'm back to square one again.

I don't want to talk about this anymore.

"Want to watch a movie?" To get the remote, I have to break free of Jane's arms, which is a good thing, as it's reminding me of how frustratingly close we've come, just to get no result.

After a minute's channel-flipping I land on an action movie. Guns blazing, cars exploding, and pure, mindless carnage.

Perfect.

* * *

I don't remember lying down, nor do I remember feeling sleepy as we watched the movie, but I must have done because now it's pitch-black outside and the credits are rolling. I can't feel Jane beside me anymore, and when I look around, both the empty bottles have disappeared. He's probably gone back to his trailer; it's getting late.

I really can't be bothered to move off the couch. I'll regret it in the morning, but tonight I'm too disappointed and tired to care. Instead, I close my eyes again and wait to drift back off.

There's movement coming from the kitchen and my hand flies to my hip automatically, searching for my gun, but then I hear a cough and realize that it's Jane. What is he still doing here?

His footsteps are getting closer and I quickly close my eyes again so he doesn't feel he needs to stop and chat. It's enough that he cleaned up. He didn't have to do that.

To my surprise, I don't hear the door open, and the footsteps instead approach the couch. It takes all of my very limited acting ability to continue feigning sleep as he comes to stand next to me. It's even harder when he brushes some hair off my face, and my skin burns at his touch.

"Can't even make it through a movie without falling asleep," he whispers. "Don't worry, you didn't miss much anyway. Good guy won, bad guy lost, good guy got the girl. Lucky bastard."

He chuckles to himself.

"God, I love you." He strokes the side of my face. "I promise that I'll try to say it to you properly someday."

It's so hard to keep from smiling, I have to visualize Abbot in my head to manage it. He meant that one. I know he did.

I feel him leaning down, and the gentle pressure as he kisses my forehead. And before I can think about it any more, I'm opening my eyes, and reaching for him.

He jolts in surprise.

"I thought you were sleeping."

I smile at him. "I'm not. Oh, and I love you too."

Before he can reply, I'm pressing my lips to his, he responds instantly, and it's like we've been transported back in time to this morning. This whole day and all the weirdness seems to evaporate and a warm tingling feeling runs through me again. I kiss him harder, he matches me kiss for kiss and soon my brain is having to scream at me to remind me I'm going to need oxygen soon if I want to keep this up. His hands are running through my hair, mine are clutching his face, and then he's kissing my neck slowly and sensually, and stars seem to be popping in front of my eyes.

But then, his lips part company with my skin, and the kissing stops.

"What are we doing?"

"I thought you were supposed to be the observant one."

"It was weird before."

"But now it isn't."

The kissing continues, his hands are playing with the bottom of my top and I can't wait for him to get it off me, and get his hands on me. I want him all over me. But he's too slow, so soon I'm sitting up, still kissing him, and doing it for him, before going for his shirt too, ripping it in my haste.

His kisses are intoxicating, his touch is addictive, I could do this for the rest of my life. There are no sounds except gasping and moaning and tearing fabric and it's just like I dreamed it would be, except for one thing. He grunts in protest as I stop kissing him momentarily, and get to my feet.

"What's wrong?"

"Not enough room."

"Bed?"

It's a few feet to my bedroom, but my lust-addled brain sees it as a hundred miles. The rug is soft, and has the added bonus of being right here beside us. As I glance down at it, he seems to get my meaning. In a flash he's sinking down on it, pulling me down on top of him. His hands are at the clasp of my bra now and mine are buried in those curls that I always secretly lusted after.

We've gone from zero to a hundred miles an hour in the space of about two minutes, but it feels so right, and so good, I suddenly realize we should have done this from the start. Instead of letting my head get in the way I should just have grabbed him and let my sex drive do the rest.

"I think we were overthinking this."

"Rookie mistake."

"Should have just called in sick this morning, told Abbot to go to hell."

"You're seriously thinking about him right now? That hurts."

"Oh, shut up."

My jeans are gone, and now his too. I kiss every inch of his lean, taut body and smile as he writhes in pleasure. I don't even realize that my panties are off until I see a flash of white sail through the air out of the corner of my eye. I kiss him hard on the mouth again, feeling his hands wandering all over me, and I'm still wanting more and more no matter how much he pleases me. And he doesn't keep me waiting any longer.

Oh, yes.

"Oh, _yes!"_

I didn't mean to say that one out loud either, but I'm very glad I did, as he takes the encouragement to heart and keeps the pleasure coming until the ecstasy takes me over and I can't think anymore.

It takes some time for me to catch my breath, let alone even attempt to sit up. When I finally do, he's still lying beside me, panting, and that makes me smile. He kept up with me, that was for sure, and I'm sure the more we practice, the more stamina he'll get.

His skin is glistening with beads of sweat and I climb on top of him again and kiss them off, one by one. They make him taste salty and delicious, and I can't get enough.

"My God, woman," he finally manages to gasp. "I always knew you'd be a spitfire in bed, but I had _no_ idea…"

I pause in my slow worship of his body. "Always?" And I here I thought I was only one that fantasised about us doing this kind of thing.

He places a few kisses on my jaw. "Ever since the first time I saw you body-slam a man twice your size."

"And it didn't scare you off?"

"Are you kidding? It's half the reason I fell for you in the first place. And more to the point, does it look like I'm in any physical shape to go anywhere right now?"

I sure as hell hope not. I'm not even close to done with him yet. But he can have a little time to recover first. We've got all night after all.

I can wait.

* * *

**I initially planned to write this chapter in Jane's POV, but Lisbon's voice kept butting in until she eventually took over the entire piece. She's pushy like that.**

**Happy Christmas and New Year.**


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